


I do not feel the fear of falling (thought I could fly)

by TurismoEmocional



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom Harry, Daddy Kink, Eventual relationship, Happy Ending, Jealousy, Just Sex, M/M, Pining, Teacher-Student Relationship, Top Louis, harry cries!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 22:23:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1916094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurismoEmocional/pseuds/TurismoEmocional
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"After months of being showered with attention from the gorgeous boy, Louis feels like he’s experiencing a drought, and he yearns for even a single look in his general direction. He's pining and he knows it, feels like he's wilting. He can’t decide if being fired and arrested and disowned by his mum would have been the better outcome at this point."</p><p> </p><p>Or - Harry is 19, Louis is 25. Student/Teacher relationships should remain strictly professional at all times... That's not to say they always do. Things get messy quickly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I do not feel the fear of falling (thought I could fly)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toridactyl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toridactyl/gifts).



> To the person this was written for: I changed a couple things. I know. I hope you love it anyway. I also didn't mean for this to turn into a big mess of confusion and feelings! But it felt right, and I gotta go with my gut, yanno. I did re-write this a few times, so I hope I chose the right approach in the end. Happy fic exchange! Enjoy.
> 
>  
> 
> Title is from Jhene Aiko's 3:16 AM.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s a handful of slip up’s.

 

The boy had been staring him down from the beginning, eyes glued to Louis’ face, his legs, his back when he tried to turn away, escape the pressure building in his ears whenever his eyes subconsciously darted across the classroom to find him staring. As usual.

 

He should’ve seen it coming; he’s known from the beginning that his resolution is only capable of stretching so far before snapping, bouncing back into his space and leaving angry gashes across his skin like the burn of a rubber band.

 

He’d been destined to crash from the second he took off, despite all the alarms going off in his head, the ones warning him that this boy looked at him with a lot more than simple admiration in his eyes, the ones insisting that he speak to a head counselor and request that one Harry Styles be removed from his roster, placed in someone else’s drama class instead.

 

Louis is just fucking starting off. Barely a year of teaching down his back, one he’d enjoyed thoroughly, a single year that proved to be sufficient for Louis to know that being 25 doesn’t have to mean that a bunch of 18 and 19 year old university freshmen are incapable of acknowledging and respecting his authority. One year, it was enough for Louis to understand that he wants this to be his entire life.

 

He used to daydream about sending his students off, at least the ones that are as serious about theater as he considers himself to be, and watching them shape into Broadway, maybe even Hollywood stars. He’d taken a bunch of squirmy, awkward boys and girls on their first year of uni and turned them into a group of individuals who were comfortable with invading each other’s personal spaces; people who learned to master the art of shutting out the curious eyes around the room in order to get into character.

 

Louis is talented. He is really fucking good at his job, he is capable of turning coal to gold, he’d proved that much in just one year.

 

And now here he is, stumbling out of the theater building with spunk on his trousers for the tenth time, throat wrung dry despite having kept quiet the entire time; he tells himself that this time he’s had enough.

 

He always storms out in a hurry after their encounters, but this time feels a little different. This time, it feels real.

 

The sky is coming down in angry spurts; Louis can’t be bothered to shield himself from the cold.

 

Harry is… different. Difficult. Dangerous.

 

Louis had been entirely hopeless from the beginning.

 

He thinks of the first time they had done this, how Harry had crawled into Louis’ lap and rubbed off against the expensive fabric molding his chest.

 

He thinks of the second time he’d allowed it to happen, how Harry had kissed him and begged to blow him, how he’d called him daddy when Louis had tugged him up for air by the soft curls crowning his head.

 

They’d developed a routine of some sort. Every Friday Harry would come and find Louis after school, pretend he was there for entirely different reasons, and then Louis would have him spread out over his desk in the next few minutes, teeth digging into his jaw, three fingers buried deep in Harry’s arse.

 

Every single time he’d stormed out as soon as it was over, left him sweaty and panting. Defenseless. Harry had seemed to understand. This time it was different, and instead of watching Louis go silently, he’d spoken up.

 

He thinks of the way Harry had dropped to his knees so effortlessly just minutes ago as he throws his car door open and pushes himself inside using every last ounce of energy remaining in his body.

 

He closes his eyes and sees the way Harry had kissed up his thighs, begged him please, and taken him down with an impending sob shoved down his throat. Every single reason Louis could’ve thought up to deny Harry’s attempts, try and reject him one last time as he often did, died in that moment.

 

When he does start the car, the sight of his knee moving as he releases the foot break is enough to remind him of the come stains on his right leg, and sure enough he looks down to find incriminating stains drying on the denim of his inner thigh.

 

He thinks of the way Harry had gone limp in his arms, how he’d had to use all his upper core strength to nurse him through his orgasm, the tiny and spent ‘Daddy’ that had left the boy’s lips serving as the only sign that Harry was indeed conscious and alive, not suffering from a stroke or partial heart failure.

 

He remembers feeling the boy’s come hit his jeans in frenzied spurts and wanting to thank him for letting Louis have this; have all of _him_ , like _this_.

 

Louis can still taste metal when he thinks of how hard he’d bitten down on his tongue to keep from screaming as he came down the boy’s throat, the way Harry’s hands had gone pliant around Louis’ thighs; it was almost like in that moment, stuffed so full of cock, all air supply limited as he kept his nose pressed to Louis’ lower abdomen, Harry was able to breathe best.

 

Louis humors the thought for a minute or two, the same time it takes him to find the willpower to climb out of his car after he’s somehow turned up in his driveway. How he didn’t crash and die on his way here is beyond him. He can’t remember passing the broad, grassy open field full of colorful flowers just a mile or two back down the road. He can’t recall turning left at the stoplight before his street, realizes this means he probably ran a red light or two. He can’t be bothered to keep tormenting himself with such ideas after he manages to drag himself to his front porch, shakily pulling his keys out of his right pocket and shoving the right one into the slot, throwing his door open and storming inside.

 

He’s like a mad man after that, pulling off his soaked sweatshirt with shaky hands and chattering teeth, unsure as to whether that’s due to the cold or the anxiety attack he feels coming on. He rips his trousers off the best he can, kicking them away as if they might be on fire, one of the legs claiming one of Louis’ socks captive and leaving him looking like a total idiot in the middle of his hallway. Louis can’t even tell left from right.

 

When he’s finally stripped down to nothing but skin and he’s standing in his downstairs guest bathroom, too impatient to even make his way upstairs, hands working the shower handles clumsily – that’s when he finally thinks of Harry’s face, the fear and horror in his eyes when Louis had simply shoved him off as he usually did after they’d both come down; the utter disappointment that had taken over his face, as if he'd hoped this time would be different.

 

“Can’t – this can’t keep happening.” Was all Louis had said, feeling that same dread he’d felt when he’d taken on a dare at the age of sixteen and kissed a sweet girl named El wash over him. He’d pulled his pants up, buttoned and zipped them back up and collected his belongings sitting forgotten on the floor by the door, had walked out and left Harry arguing alone.

 

“That’s it then?” he recalls hearing. He remembers tripping over his feet for a second, startled to hear Harry talking in the first place. Harry had never hinted at having anything to say, now he was angry.

 

He holds a hand to his mouth when he feels like the flashbacks might make him sick.

 

“Not even – not even a fucking thank you, innit?”

 

Louis stands straight under the showerhead, clenches his fists against the wall when the water gets in his ears and drowns out the sound of his filth disappearing down the drain.

 

“You can’t keep shaking me off like I disgust you. I want this. I thought I'd been sufficiently obvious about that, but maybe you need to hear me say it. I want this. And you want it just as much as I do, I can feel it when you touch me. So why won't you ever stick around long enough to give me a chance to try and turn this into something more?”

 

Walking out was his way of determining the end of this _thing_ they had going, whatever it was. Louis knows that now.

 

He collapses to his knees, nearly busts his head open against the wall. He feels so nauseous he thinks he might pass out.

 

Louis had seen it all coming, had known his fate even before it all started happening. He’d wanked to Harry on more occasions than one, noticed his tendency to stay after class long after the rest of his classmates were gone, taken note of the longing stares thrown his way whenever Louis crossed him on campus.

 

It wasn’t one sided in the least, Louis can’t remember a single instance in his life where he’d been as sexually frustrated as he suddenly was after meeting Harry – Harry with his messy curls; sometimes brushed back, sometimes in his face, sometimes held out of his face by colorful headscarves. Harry with his tendency to wear stupid worn out boots and skinny jeans. Harry with his private little smiles he reserved just for Louis. Harry with his absolute honesty, always so blatantly exposed.

 

Louis decided he couldn't be held accountable for his actions. Once he'd gotten a taste, he was addicted. Constantly obsessed with the thought of bending Harry over his desk and pulling his trousers down over the swell of his ass. He’d grown so fond of his pigeon toed feet and his poor coordination, had watched him intently during class, had wanted to pull him in for kisses and then fuck his mouth. 

 

And it had all happened so quickly. Louis feels a head rush just thinking about it.

 

He had been working backstage in one of the dressing rooms that first time, making small alterations to the cast costumes, and Harry had come in searching for him, claiming to want to help. Next thing he knew, Louis was pushed up against some cast lockers, Harry gnawing desperately at the skin of his neck, hands undoing his pants and reaching inside to explore.

 

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Harry had confessed to him. Louis recalls thinking that it couldn’t possibly be that long in reality, considering they’d only just met a mere three months before that.

 

Now though, as he shuts off the shower and makes a beeline up the stairs for his bedroom, completely foregoing a towel, he thinks that three months is a really long time.

 

Not that dwelling on it really changes anything at this point. Louis’ broken the number one rule in the book (multiple times. On school grounds.), and on top of that he’s broken the heart of a boy who he thinks he might’ve been able to make it work with if they’d met at a different time in their lives. A boy he might’ve possibly had feelings for all along.

 

When he begins to drift off he’s resigned to the thought that he’ll most likely be getting fired and his teaching career will burn out bright above his head, like the fireworks he’d experienced when visiting the states on the fourth of July.

 

Just before he shuts his eyes, succumbing to his exhaustion more than to actual sleep, he realizes he’s wanted Harry for an equally long time.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Louis wants to say he burns out dramatically; that Harry reports him after that, accuses him of sexual harassment or something along the lines of, and that he’s arrested for molesting a student and excommunicated from the church.

 

It just… it isn’t the truth.

 

Harry doesn’t report him. Harry doesn’t even acknowledge him.

 

Louis comes into class with his chest puffed out valiantly and his arms crossed behind his back, more than ready to face the music, watches his first class of the day file in and take their seats. Harry rushes in late eventually, beanie thrown over his head, school bag slipping off his shoulder, looking like he’s gotten little to no sleep. He's beautiful. He doesn’t even look Louis in the eye.

 

Things stay the same for weeks, Louis watching Harry walk into lecture with the likes of Niall and Zayn as well as a few other students whose names he can’t be damned to learn. Chatting animatedly, all of them acknowledging Louis’ presence with a fond but polite ‘Morning Prof!’ except for Harry, who busies himself with his phone or who chooses to rearrange his headscarf right at that very second.

 

After months of being showered with attention from the gorgeous boy, Louis feels like he’s experiencing a drought, and he yearns for even a single look in his general direction. He's pining and he knows it, feels like he's wilting. He can’t decide if being fired and arrested and disowned by his mum would have been the better outcome at this point.

 

Harry doesn’t come searching for him anymore, doesn’t try to start any sort of physical contact even when they’re practically brushing elbows during class. He won’t be left in a room alone with Louis, and it makes him feel sick to his core. He’s hurt a boy who doesn't deserve any of the shitty things Louis' thrown his way.

 

Harry’s bright as ever when Louis spots him in hallways though, or on the grass beneath the trees around campus; he laughs and smiles and keeps his eyes alert as ever - it's just that none of it is directed at Louis anymore. It's almost like nothing ever happened in the first place, like the guilt Louis' felt eating at him for the last three weeks is unreasonable, unnecessary. It's like Louis' suffering alone.

 

Louis doesn’t feel regret anymore, and if he does, then it’s for entirely different reasons. Anger, disappointment, jealousy, they all seem to be taking turns calling Louis’ chest their home. All he can think about is how he should’ve always kissed the corner of Harry’s mouth after he’d finished him off, how he should’ve stayed back to ask him if his throat would be alright, maybe make him some tea – maybe talk things through with him.

 

He pictures the Harry that had trembled post-orgasm in his arms, or the one that had begged on his knees for Louis to just let him do this _please_. He can’t find that Harry in the one who sits in on his daily lectures but is the first out the door, or the one who does his required after school theater hours building up to their fall production but doesn’t stay a minute longer.

 

He feels like he’s lost something that wasn’t even his in the first place, but could’ve been eventually.

 

He’d come so close, and then he’d burned it all to the ground.

 

The thin, worn out tight rope they’ve been balancing on for weeks finally snaps on opening night, when everyone comes rushing off the stage after a successful first performance and he catches sight of Harry packing up his things and exiting through the back door out of the corner of his eye.

 

He can’t be blamed for following him. He also can’t be blamed for stopping dead in his tracks, blood running cold, when he spots Harry outside in the theater staff car park, holding hands with a boy who’s whispering something into his ear and giving him a tight hug before said boy is disappearing back inside with a wave, accidentally bumping shoulders with Louis in the process and not even bothering to apologize.

 

“Harry.” The name’s left his lips before he has a chance to stop it, and he realizes that he doesn’t even regret it. The boy’s head shoots up immediately, eyes scanning the dimly lit lot until they come to a halt on Louis’ shadowy figure.

 

Harry doesn’t even flinch, blinking slow and unfazed before slamming the trunk of his car closed and making his way around to the driver’s side. Louis’ legs are running of their own accord, anger bubbling so deep in his chest he thinks he might punch Harry right in the jaw as soon as he’s close enough to do so.

 

“Who the fuck was that?” Louis spits out as he rounds the driver’s side and slams Harry’s door shut just as the boy pulls it open; Harry’s eyes are alight, dangerous and daring when he finally looks Louis in the eye.

 

“Who the fuck are you?” He smarts back, trying to pull his door open as if Louis wasn’t pressing his entire weight against it to avoid exactly that.

 

“So you just. You fucking seduce me and – and let me go ahead and feel like shit for fucking weeks, like I might’ve fucked it all up. And then you just move onto the next one? Like…” Louis drifts off for a second; it hits him like a train, the realization that he has no right to be angry. “Like I meant nothing to you.”

 

Harry’s cold as he gives Louis a quick once-over, somehow managing to make him feel like the most disgusting human being on this side of the globe.

 

“And if I did? You don’t give a shit about me, you made that very clear. Just needed to get me out of your system and then you were done with me.” Harry’s voice has reached a low Louis’ never heard before, it’s startling enough to have him sidestepping a bit in an attempt to escape Harry’s prying stare. He snaps out of it as soon as Harry tries to squeeze into his vehicle again.

 

“You’re a boy, Harry. You’re so fucking young, and you had a crush, and I – fuck, I took advantage of you, I. I fucking panicked, Harry. I fucking lost my shit.” Louis gasps out, hands tangling in his neatly styled hair, all care thrown to the wind. He has to close his eyes to catch his breath, hands coming down to cover the embarrassment drawn across his face. He doesn’t know how he went from angry to repentant in as little time as he just did. He reasons with himself that it’s all Harry, he makes him crazy.

 

“I’m not a child, Louis. I’m a fucking grown adult. I have a job, I pay my own fucking bills, and I’m 300 miles away from home. You can’t fuck my mouth and then decide you want to treat me like I'm some kind of love-struck child with a twisted obsession and psychological issues.” Harry’s tone is calm, almost like he’s been planning out his attack for weeks. Louis realizes belatedly that he probably has.

 

“You’re a fucking dick, you know that? I fucking – I told you how I felt, completely humiliated myself, and you just left me standing there, I-“

 

Louis can’t hear another word of this, can’t stand the guilt blooming in his chest like a fucking disease. So he kisses him.

 

They stumble back a bit, teeth knocking together awkwardly, until Harry’s pressed against the window of his car, arms flailing at his sides and throwing clumsy punches aimed Louis’ way until Louis takes him by the wrists and holds his hands to his chest, swallows the defeated whimpers Harry lets out as he licks into his mouth.

 

When he pulls away he can’t tell his breathing from Harry’s anymore.

 

“I’m so fucking sorry.” He mumbles after it’s been one too many seconds, maybe even minutes, of silence. Harry doesn’t say anything back, but at least he doesn’t fight him when Louis dips in to mouth at his neck, hands releasing their grip on Harry’s wrists and arms coming to wrap around his waist instead, pulling him in closer.

 

“You – you fucking broke my heart, you-“ Louis silences him with another kiss only to have him pick up right where he left off as soon as he pulls away. “just fucking left me talking to myself and walked out on me. Fucking cried my eyes out right there on the floor, cock out and everything. Do you have any idea how fucking ridiculous I felt? I fucking-“

 

Louis kisses him again, because at this point it seems like that’s exactly what Harry needs him to do. He sobs into his mouth, and when Louis finally pulls away the boy is now openly crying, head turning to avoid having to face Louis in this state.

 

Louis follows his gaze insistently, until Harry gives in and looks him in the eye. He holds him until his cries are reduced to little shuddering, post-tear whimpers.

 

Eventually, he pulls Harry across the lot to his own car and doesn’t ask him if it’s okay that Louis’ planning on taking him home and fucking him into the sheets until he can't remember his own name, let alone what brought them here in the first place. He knows he doesn’t have to.

 

Louis keeps a hand curled over Harry’s knee the entire drive home. Harry stays silent, almost completely still except for the little shudders that hit him every few minutes, the kind that can only be blamed on a good cry. Louis’ so endeared he eventually pushes his hesitance aside and reaches for Harry’s hand, interlocks their fingers and brings them up near his mouth so he can kiss the soft jut of his thumb knuckle. Louis thinks he might be in love.

 

Harry goes willingly when Louis brings the car to a stop in front of his house and goes around to open the car door for him. Louis pulls him through the same threshold he’d tripped over weeks ago, when he’d been sure he’d ruined it all and he was going to hell.

 

Now, instead of taking deep breaths and counting to ten, he crowds Harry’s space up against the door and doesn’t ask for permission before unbuttoning his shirt and diving in to pepper his neck with kisses.

 

“Gonna make you feel so good,” Louis hums, running a thumb from the dip between Harry's collarbones to his belly button, delighted at the feeling of Harry’s stomach muscles twitching nervously.

 

He’s silent, surprisingly shy in contrast to all the previous times they’d come together like this. Harry had been eager then, had projected all of his emotions onto Louis, had fucking called him _daddy_.

 

The silence is so deafening it stings. So Louis does the first thing that comes to mind, pushes Harry to turn so his back is facing him instead and grinds the thick line of his cock into Harry’s ass. It earns him a whimper, and Harry suddenly goes loose, like that was all he needed to be reminded that he wants this just as much as Louis.

 

Louis unbuttons his trousers and tugs Harry’s cock out, gives him a good squeeze or two, reveling in the little noises he lets out, sucking distractedly at the back of his neck, where his skin is sweet and warm. It’s hard to keep him quiet after that.

 

Louis guides him up the stairs soon after, amazed with Harry’s demeanor, the way he doesn’t even try to tuck himself back into his pants before following Louis to wherever he’s leading him. He just stares up at him, so much trust and desire written across his features that Louis has to stop halfway up the stairs to kiss him and tug on his cock, Harry’s knees trembling for a moment.

 

“You want me, don’t you?” Harry blurts out when Louis pulls him through his bedroom door and gently pushes him down against the bed, his body facing the mattress. It doesn’t sound cocky; neither does it sound much like dirty talk. Harry needs reassurance, and Louis’ so fucking willing to give it to him, give him everything.

 

“Want you so much.” Louis breathes onto his skin as he dips the mattress, settles his weight onto Harry’s upper back so he can whisper in his ear.

 

“Want to make you mine. Don’t want you going back to that boy, he – he kept _touching_ you, H. Don't want anyone else touching you.” Louis grits out, hands squeezing Harry’s hips angrily when he recalls the way the other boy had put his hands on a Harry that wasn’t his to touch. Harry is Louis’, and so Louis goes ahead and sucks a mark into his skin to prove it, to remind him where he belongs.

 

Harry’s silent in return, but his shoulders have relaxed like Louis’ just said everything he needed to hear. Louis gives his hair a sharp tug just in case, pulling his head off the mattress and leaning in to speak directly into his ear.

 

“Did you hear what I said? I don’t want him touching you ever again.” Louis hisses, and Harry fucking melts under his fingers, going soft and pliant beneath him, body sinking deeper into the mattress as he arches his back so his bum brushes up against the tent in Louis’ pants.

 

“Roommate.” He breathes out, and Louis’ brows furrow in confusion. Harry must sense the question lingering in the air, so he elaborates. “He’s my roommate, Liam. He’s – Zayn. Liam's with Zayn.” He gulps loudly, Louis watches his fingers fist in the sheets. "I - Lou. 'M with you."

 

Harry’s rambling. Louis feels relief wash over him, his hands mapping out the strong build of Harry’s back, lips diving in to plant a small kiss where Louis had been rough with his boy’s scalp.

 

“Thank you.” He breathes out, unable to resist the sudden urge to shower him with kisses and praise. “My good boy. Just mine, aren’t you?”

 

“Daddy.” Harry whimpers in response, "yours." and. Oh. There it is. Louis freezes where he’d been pulling Harry’s arms back so he could pull off his shirt.

 

“Sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Harry blurts out immediately, obviously feeling like it might’ve been too much too soon, body language exposing all his fears as he draws himself in tight despite the fact that Louis’ got his hands held behind his back and he’s got nowhere to run.

 

Louis finishes what he’d started once he’s managed to catch his breath, tugs Harry’s shirt off and throws it across the room and then leans down to pepper kisses down Harry’s spine.

 

“Say it again,” he breathes out against his back dimples, chin resting over the curve of Harry’s pert bum, and the boy whines, hips grinding into the mattress.

 

“Fuck, please. Please daddy. Please.” Louis has to pet his shoulder softly, encourage him to breathe, and then he’s tugging his jeans down his legs, taking the time to breathe out a soft ‘gorgeous’ onto his skin and kissing the backs of his knees before pulling his pants off as well, groaning when he catches sight of Harry’s arse pushing high up into the air.

 

Harry’s impatient, moving his body as if to remind Louis that he’s here, spreading his legs open to reel Louis in despite already having claimed his full attention. Louis doesn’t understand the possessive flare that blooms in his chest, but he goes with it, bringing his hands in and touching where Harry is so openly offering himself.

 

“I see you.” Louis assures, licking his lips when Harry lets out a relieved sigh. “Looking just at you, babe. Just you.”

 

Harry’s a mess of limbs and _daddy_ and tiny broken noises once Louis’ stripped down; he finally brings out the lube and condoms, begins to open him up. He’s got his ass in the air, keeps huffing out whimpers into the pillows, and Louis won’t stop whispering filthy things into his ear. Harry’s already in pieces and Louis’ just barely started.

 

“Please,” Harry begs, mouth hanging open as Louis pulls the two fingers he’s got pressed inside him out to the tips and then pushes them right back in, scissoring him open and getting the most delicious little noise from him in return.

“Shh, sweetheart. ‘M gonna take such good care of you.” Louis promises, and Harry chokes on a dry sob, toes curling against the sheets. He knows it’s lingering in the air, the silent promise of going all the way tonight, for the first time. Making all of this official. He knows he has to do things right.

 

“More. Please, more. I can’t – please. One more. Daddy, just – just one.” He’s been begging for over ten minutes, arching his back and clenching his ass and fucking himself on Louis’ fingers. He’s so close to tears; Louis can’t stop staring at him.

 

“I can take it.” Harry promises, making an effort to move his shaky legs and spread them wider apart, giving Louis all the access he could need, encouraging him to take all he wants and then some.

 

“Fuck. Baby.” Louis breathes out, leaning back to watch as Harry’s hands come up to cup his ass cheeks and spread himself open, whimpering with the oversensitivity of being so exposed. Louis looks though, can't tear his eyes away, and Harry shudders bodily, like having Louis' eyes on him like this might be enough to bring him off.

 

“Want this, don’t you?” Louis slurs out, curling over Harry’s back to breathe into his ear, brushing a third finger just around the very rim of Harry’s entrance. His hole flutters uncontrollably.

 

“Yes, please. Fuck, daddy, please. Give it to me. I can take it, give it to me.” Harry begs, and Louis dips the tip of his finger in just to test it out, he leans back to coat it in lube as Harry whimpers and shakes through the feeling.

 

Fifteen minutes later Louis’ got three fingers pressed deep inside Harry’s heat, rubbing torturously against his prostate. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard a sound more glorious than that of Harry Styles begging Louis to fuck him.

 

“Wanted this for so long.” Harry croaks, and Louis is taken back to that first time they crossed the line, when he started a pattern he’d quite like to forget, when he left a boy naked and alone on a beat up couch in a dressing room. He thinks he’d like to take it all back, tells himself he’d stay this time around if he got the chance to do it all over again.

  

None of it matters anymore, Louis reasons as he rolls on a condom, coats it in lube and dips his fingers inside one last time just for the reaction it’ll get him. None of it matters now as he lines himself up and begins to push in.

 

“No, please.” Harry interrupts, making Louis pull out with a wince, terrified he’s done something wrong. “Want – daddy I want to see your face.” He begs. Louis is so endeared, wants so much he feels dizzy with it.

 

He helps Harry turn onto his back and licks his lips in anticipation as the boy’s legs fall open on their own, welcoming Louis' presence. Harry’s fat, leaking cock stares up at Louis, adding to his list of ‘reasons why Harry Styles deserves all of my affection’. He plans on giving it to him, every last bit.

 

He doesn’t bother with teasing any longer, leans down to plant a kiss on Harry’s lips and gauges his reaction as he begins to thrust in, amazed with the blissed out expression that spreads across his face.

 

“Please.” Harry breathes, reaching down to pull his legs back against his chest, head shooting off the mattress when the angle pushes Louis in deeper, lips pursed into a silent O.

 

“So good, so good, so good.” He finally gasps out, and Louis looks down just in time to catch sight of a thick drop of precome oozing out of the flushed head of Harry’s cock. He wipes it off with his thumb, brings it up to Harry's lips for him to taste. He feels like crying when Harry wraps his lips around the tip of Louis' finger, sucks it clean. 

 

Louis doesn’t know how he ever lived without this. He doesn’t understand how he ever walked away from this boy in the first place. He knows he’ll never be able to do so again after tonight though, and that thought isn’t nearly as earth-shatteringly terrifying as it probably should be.

 

“Fast. Need it fast.” Harry whimpers as Louis begins to pick up a steady pace, and Louis doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to deny this boy anything ever again. He angles his hips and thrusts in faster, pride flooding him from head to toe when he hits Harry’s prostate and the boy’s back curves high off the bed.

 

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Louis whispers, pushing Harry’s sweaty fringe out of his face with careful fingers, leaning in to suck a dirty bruise into the cut of his jaw.

 

“’M so - fuck. So good.” Harry sobs, and when Louis pulls back to look at his pretty face, Harry’s crying.

 

“Please. Deeper. Daddy, deep, right here.” He mumbles, chin tucking against his chest as he trails a hand down between their sweaty bodies, pressing his fingers to his lower abdomen.

 

Louis doesn’t understand, but shifts his angle so he can thrust in deeper, and Harry cries out like he’s been wounded.

 

“Yes, fuck. Please. Yes, here. You’re – daddy, here.” Harry sobs, reaching for Louis’ hand so he can feel where Harry’s stomach shifts and swells every time Louis thrusts in deep, and that’s just. Fuck. Louis says as much.

 

“You like that, don’t you?” Louis slurs, and Harry nods frantically, looking up at Louis with tears in his eyes, face contorting with pleasure on every thrust.

 

“Gonna come, gonna – fuck, ‘m gonna come.” Harry whimpers, pressing his hand down deep into his skin to feel where his body wraps welcomingly around Louis’ intrusion. “Daddy. ‘M coming, oh fuck I’m-“

 

He goes silent as he paints his chest white, cock shooting completely untouched. His come rubs off on Louis’ chest as well, and it feels so intimate Louis can't help but circle his hips, hitting his prostate dead-on to watch him scream. Louis’ gone to pull out as soon as Harry begins shaking, doesn't want to overwhelm him. He's just about to do so when Harry’s heel digs into his bum, head shaking frantically through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

 

“Don’t stop. Please, wanna make you come.” He gasps out, so obviously spent and yet so willing to let Louis use his body for himself.

  

“Fuck.” Louis only manages another three or four thrusts before he’s shooting into the condom, Harry’s heat wrapped around him like a vice. He’s shivering when Louis does pull out, come and tear stained, completely destroyed.

 

They’re both silent as Louis fetches some moist towelettes and cleans him up, following up with himself only as an afterthought.

 

“Not gonna kick me out of your house, are you?” Harry teases, sounding more exhausted than a couple minutes before. Louis smacks his bum in response, bites his lip when Harry shudders at the contact. That’s something he’d definitely like to explore, but it’ll have to be another night. The thought of having more time with Harry makes his chest swell with happiness.

 

“Nope. Gonna keep you here forever.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

“Definitely. You’ll be my sex slave and I’ll feed you ice cream and brownie bits.” Louis hums, slipping under the sheets and tugging Harry along with him, curling over his back possessively.

 

Harry lets out a breathy giggle at that, but his nerves are still on end, and Louis can feel his thighs shaking from where he’s pressed against him.

 

“Sleep now, love. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Louis promises, and that seems to be enough for Harry cause he’s out like a light in seconds.

 

Louis’ not an idiot, he knows there’s conversations to be had about what this all means. He also knows that choosing to start a relationship with Harry also means choosing to put his career at risk, and he feels like he should be slightly more worried than he currently is.

 

Tomorrow, though. There’ll be plenty of time for worrying tomorrow.

 

For now, Louis draws Harry in closer to his chest and closes his eyes, falls asleep counting his breaths.


End file.
